Thursday, 15 December 2011

A Bloody Good Poking!

I remember it as clear as day now. We were walking home from primary school; me and a certain Neil White and I don’t know how the conversation began but it fell into  a ‘my dad’s better than your dad thing’. I do remember this though it was him that started it. Me and Neil had a few running’s here and there and he knew not to piss me off or I would just get wild and jump on his back and smash his head on the floor. I was wild when I was younger and would often fly into fits of rage and couldn’t stop myself from going mental so to speak.
Anyway Neil told me that his dad would knock my dad out (I don’t know why) but there you go, that is what he told me. I said “no way, my dad would give your dad a hiding”. Neil came back with his snappy reply, “na my dad would give your dad a backbreaker!” For those of you who never watched WWF that’s the World Wrestling Foundation and not the World Wildlife Foundation which I find are easily confused. The backbreaker is a move from WWF and not WWF O.K.! So I say that he could try but my father’s stronger and that he would outmanoeuvre his dad and reverse the move on him. It was getting intense now and there was more and more malice lacing every word that was slung.
Neil had reached his limit or what seemed to be the limit of his imagination and to be honest with you I don’t know why he was defending his father because it wasn’t his real dad; no he was defending a man which we’d nicknamed Dafydd Cont which when translated would mean David the Cunt. He was mean to them and used to belt them; but I suppose he had to stick up for him, but then again, he did not have to initiate the mudslinging.
So apparently Dafydd Cont had a gun because he was a farmer and he was going to shoot my dad no problems. I told him that I’d phone the cops and that they would swarm his house. This it seems would not stop Dafydd Cont because he would boldly blast his way out of the situation smoking the policeman as he parted them out of his way, akin to Moses and his miracle at the red sea.
My father had a work shop in our house where he used to build the Irish pipes (Uilleann Pipes) in the evenings. In this workshop was a machine called a Lathe which is used to turn wood from blocks into conical form and also it is used to drill them out. So I tell Neil that my dad would grab his dad before he could get to his gun and commence in putting his body on the lathe; setting it spinning at a faster and faster speed, until eventually his head would come off and all his guts would come flying out of the stump of his neck where his head used to be. This did the trick and he was quiet the rest of the way home!
The ensuing day was just a day like any other I got dressed and shuffled my way to school as slow as I could, and when I got there Mrs Barlow the lollypop lady would give me her ritual boot up the arse saying to me “come on slow worm”. When I got to the classroom it was evident that the news had come from the top down through the chain of command that the headmaster wanted to see me.
I approached his door with the same air of deflation that always filled me when I had to go there. Knock knock! Come in said Mr Jones. Well how could I describe Mr Jones let me begin by saying he was small in stature and he wore pink pinstriped shirts. He wore gold rings and had tight grey trousers; the type that was specially made for teachers and could only be found in mail order catalogues with an inbuilt come in the back pocket of course! Mr Jones loved golf and he would drink from a mug that had a picture of a woman clad in a bikini, and on it there was some golf related gag about a birdie. Mr Jones was a ladies man and always reeked of some pungent aftershave. Mr Jones commanded respect and he gave me a row in front of the assembly one day because I had not saluted him as he made his way into the school, and the reasoning behind this was that I was busy playing and I did not see the twat coming and besides the wind was blowing the other way so I couldn’t smell him coming either. Mr Jones wore hushpuppies. Mr Jones had an affair with Mrs Pat. Mr Jones’s hair was always slicked back the same way.
I pushed the door open and walked in, “come here!” he bellowed and so I promptly walked over and in front of his desk. Well Mr Jones leapt out of his chair with much enthusiasm and vitality and came bounding towards me as quick as a flash. Mr Jones’s weapon of choice was his chubby little digit (index) extended firmly which he used to poke you in the chest as he gave you a ticking off. Well this time though he started off a little differently; improvising with a grab of the shirt pulling me to my tiptoes, and then letting me fall back down to my feet before he commenced his prodding. “Ginsberg” he bellowed, “now”(poke) “tell” (poke) “me” (poke) “the” (poke) “truth” (poke) “and” (poke) “don’t” (poke) “give” (poke) “me” (poke) “no” (poke) cock and bull story (poke) (poke) (poke) (poke)! By the time he had finished with me I was pinned against the wall, well I didn’t know why I was here like most of the times I was here; I just didn’t know. “I don’t know what you are talking about Sir,” I told him plain and simple because it was the truth. “Oh you know Ginsberg.” “No, no I don’t Sir”. “Your father killing Neil White’s father”, “oh that Sir I didn’t start it, it was him!” I wanted to go on but he told me to go and stand outside his office as usual.
I stood there for an age I watched my friends go out to play and I watched them come back in again; the dinner lady’s passed and smiled at me I grinned my toothless grin back at them. Mrs Roberts and Mrs Pat (Mrs Pat was the one having the affair with Mr Jones) stood there discussing me as if I wasn’t there at all saying this that and the other; I hadn’t an idea of what the hell they were going on about; except that I knew it was a ploy to make me feel worse. Eventually Mrs Roberts turned square at me and said one of those sayings that I never understood, you know one of those riddles that they always fire at you when you are a kid. “Look at him; it’s as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth!” I thought for a slight moment to myself that butter does melt in my mouth, yes it does melt in my mouth so that makes me normal, there’s no problem then, its decided! I had decided to tell them the good news and so I chirped back at her defiantly “butter does melt in my mouth!” I gazed at her after saying this and could see that a wry smile was beginning to creep across her face and so instead of letting it show; she and Mrs Pat briskly turned and trotted themselves off. Hmm I had a sneaky suspicion that they liked bad little boys.
Eventually I was relieved of my exhibitory position from outside the head masters office and was allowed to go and have dinner. Ah the sweet taste of freedom Mr Jones’s is a twat and he doesn’t know that me and Richard Peter’s stole crisps, drink, and overcharged our classmates when we were running his shop (we pocketed about 40 pence), and we watched him count the takings in front of us and didn’t bat an eyelid.
Anyway so I get reprimanded all because Neil White does not have an imagination and has the cheek to go and tell on me to his mother who in turn tells the head master. Punished for having an imagination and I thought schooling was supposed to reward us for having talents like these.
So we were on our way out of the school one day me and my older brother Raphael and all of his friends. As we exited the building we started spying into the headmaster’s office through a little gap in the blinds; low and behold Mr Jones was snogging Mrs Pat. All the lads were drawing in their breaths and making exclamatory noises. “Www yyy” they went as they were greeted by the scene. “What’s the matter?” I said as I jostled inn all elbows because I was much smaller than them because they were older. It was true Mr Jones and Mrs Pat were going at it hammer and tongs, or more to the point they were hammering each other’s tongues! The lads told me that they were having an affair, “what’s that?” I asked them. I was informed that if you are married to someone then you can’t go snogging someone else. “Oh” was my reply not really understanding the principle of the whole discussion. When me and Raph got home we informed our mam of what we had witnessed at the headmasters office; well her eyes lit up as we filled her in and she asked us if we were sure. “Of course we are everyone saw it”. I could see by her reaction that this was a bad thing, and there was that sanctimonious shithawk ploughing into me, and all the while he had been having an AFFAIR! Wait until my fingers grow Mr Jones and you are dead meat!

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